


All Change

by livebynight



Series: You and Ivar [4]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, i guess??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-25 04:41:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10756917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livebynight/pseuds/livebynight
Summary: The Heathen Army is going back to England. Confrontations erupt as emotional conflict comes to an all-time high.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as - this started as a smut series and yours truly became way too invested in these two...

 

Several weeks passed since you had proper contact with Ivar. You didn’t want to admit that you had been avoiding him but… That was exactly what you were doing. Since the Ragnarssons announced their return to England, you fretted that any serious conversation you might have would end up with you vomiting out every emotion that threatened to burst out of you at every waking moment.

You knew it would only have been a matter of time before they returned, but over the stretch of the winter you had become so accustomed to Ivar’s presence that the thought of him leaving again was far, far from your mind. And even then, you had the certainty that he would return someday… But this was the first time you ever entertained the possibility of never seeing him again.

For now, when they returned, they returned to settle. Remain in the cities they conquered in order to gather and maintain strength for further assaults on the land. Ivar had finally gotten his wish. The evening of the announcement, he had been brimming with excitement, shouldered by Ubbe and Hvitserk as they explained their plans for the Heathen Army to a raucous crowd. He had cheered with his fellow Vikings and your heart had split open.

 _Thunk_.

Another arrow sank into your target and numbly, you armed your bow again, taking aim. It wasn’t quite Spring yet, but it was far enough from midwinter to stand out in the training field during the first rain of the season. Your cloak was abandoned to a nearby stump and your wool dress quickly became muddy and heavy with wet as you trekked back and forth, nocking your bow and tearing arrows from the deer heads. The activity was enough to keep a warm sweat on you, mingling with the cold rain.

It was fated for Ivar to rule, that you knew. But bitterness settled in the back of your throat, wondering what was the purpose of it if you could not witness it beside him? …And when had you become so besotted with him? It did not feel so long ago that you watched him leave for the previous raid. And yes, while he was gone, you missed him. But you didn’t feel so strongly for Ivar then as you did now. All it took was one winter…

The night of the announcement, you had fled from the Great Hall before the feast was near close to finished, and with eyes wide, you stayed frozen in bed. Stuck in the fetal position until Ivar came to join you.

Lucky for you, he had been so drunk that he hardly noticed your upset as he joined you in bed. He had clambered on top of you, stinking of ale and slurring words he might’ve thought seductive. You assisted undressing him and he was quick to pass out. It took hours for you to fall asleep, woken shortly after to Ivar pulling at your nightdress, hands fervent as he demanded your body. You had given yourself to him without reluctance, but refrained from doing so frequently ever since. It was hard to tell what felt worse, the hole his absence dug or the tattering of your soul the few times you gave into him.

There was still time yet, but Ivar was leaving and you were dying inside.

Since then, you hardly saw him for more than a couple of hours a day. You were endlessly occupied with chores, and now he had battle plans to make; obsessed over weaponry in the blacksmith’s cabin.

Ivar would often sneak into your bed while you slept. You had grown so accustomed to his intrusions that you hardly woke after a few instances, only finding him once you arose the next day. From those mornings, you memorized the sleepy look on his face, the most vulnerable and genuine smiles you were certain he only saved for you. Turned mischievous as he attempted to pull himself on top of you, only to frown as you’d hurry out of bed. You were distancing yourself from him, trying to quell the anticipated grief his departure would surely bring.

 _Thunk_.

Shooting arrows wasn’t clearing your mind as much as it usually did. Heaving a sigh, you traipsed across the field to retrieve them.

Upon turning around, you found the very subject of which you had tried so hard to avoid.

“Ivar,” you breathed, at a far enough distance he probably could not even hear you. He was perched on the ground not far behind where you had taken stance for shooting. Deaf to the world, you had been so lost in your thoughts, it was a wonder how long he had been sitting there.

 It appeared you weren’t the only one who felt this day should be considered warm, even as the rain fell and you could still see your breath when exhaling. Ivar was void of his cloak, wearing only his wool jacket over his tunic.

Gathering your arrows under your arm, you walked back over to him, finding it harder to meet his eye the closer you approached, even when he held his hand up to beckon you. He appeared tired, you noticed. Dark circles lingered under his eyes, making the shine of those blue orbs appear to glow. His hair, though braided, was messy and tangled, with tufts poking out at odd places. And it seemed several days since he last had a decent meal. Reluctantly, you allowed your fingers to tangle softly with his, and both your expressions matched as you watched them entwine. His were dirty from the trek over here on the wet ground; covered in soot from fingertip to elbow, assumedly from his hard work over searing iron.

“I can hardly find you anymore,” he remarked quietly.

“I am right here,” you countered.

Ivar may not have had the largest smile on his face, but any hint of it disappeared so suddenly at your answer, it sent a chill down your spine. If he meant to say something, he stayed quiet a moment longer. Instead leaned forward to rest his head on your thigh; his other hand settled on your calf. You were so taken aback by the affectionate gesture, the grimace on his face was nearly forgotten.

“Take me back to your farm. I have spent three whole days with the blacksmith and I am tired of planning,” he went on, speaking into your dress. “I wish to be in bed with you.”

Immediately, you sulked and worked on prying yourself away from him. _This_ was why you were keeping a distance. More often than not, you felt suspicious as if he were manipulating you, pretending to be sweet only to get you in bed. If any time you would attempt to coax the truth from him… To simply be reassured he was doing more than just using you, he would become angry and defensive. All of this, and soon enough he would be departing for England, abandoning you to a life of misery and self-pity.

“The sun is not yet down, Ivar,” was your excuse. “I still have errands to attend to.”

Ivar slouched over, hands falling to the ground with a thud. His nostrils flared and a gust of fog streamed from his nose as he breathed. He glared into the distance as you put space between your bodies. “Did you not have errands a moment ago? As you wasted time out here playing target practice?”

You scoffed and glared back at him. Without a doubt, recognized Ivar’s instigative tone. A sound you were all too familiar with to miss. And today you were not in the mood to be on the receiving end of one of his tantrums.

“Don’t start, Ivar.”

“ _What_ is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know what-”

“-Don’t act stupid!” He snapped suddenly, hitting his palm on the ground. The harshness of his voice made you jump, the volume of it echoed in the field surrounding you, and yet you could see him attempting to force himself to remain calm. He smiled darkly, eventually raising his eyes to look upon you.

 “You have been avoiding me,” he said simply, quieter this time. “I have tried to ignore it, but… I can’t any longer.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest at the confrontation. The both of you glared stubbornly at each other, neither of you making haste to speak first. But you would be damned if you’d be made a fool of even one last time by Ivar the Boneless. You stuck your chin in the air, tossing your arrows to the ground.

“Perhaps you should,” you stated haughtily, and moved to brisk by him. “Clearly you have got more than plenty on your mind.”

“Don’t you _dare_ walk away from me.”

Ivar forced you to an abrupt halt, hand snatching a tight fist around the fabric of your skirt. You snapped at him to let go, smacking at his hand. He tugged even more forcefully and a second hand joined his effort, pulled hard enough that your knees buckled and you landed hard on your ass on the wet ground in front of him.

With a frustrated cry, you swatted at his shoulder - attempted to rise again, but Ivar shoved you back down. You had to brace yourself on your palms to keep from tipping backward. He kept his hands on your legs heavy enough that the wet grass and dirt started to seep through your dress. His eyebrows were raised to his hairline, lips pressed together in a thin line as if daring you to move again.

“Is that what this is about? Are you not happy for me?” He finally asked, voice dripping with acid.

You could hardly imagine what your smile looked like then, forced as it was on your face. “Of _course_ I am happy for you, Ivar.”

Ivar had the gall to laugh, but it sounded raspy, like he was resisting the urge to scream at you instead. “My mistake,” he cried. “You seem absolutely _filled_ with joy!” You were about to protest when he suddenly lurched forward, hands leaving your legs to grasp onto either side of your neck. He forced you closer to him, stormy eyes glaring into yours as he angrily examined your face, tucked a wet, stray hair behind your ear.

“You don’t think me capable, do you?” His voice had been so low against the sound of the falling rain, you would have asked him to repeat himself if he had not appeared so deathly serious.

“Ivar, no-”

He cut you off – his hold on you getting tighter by the second. You winced between his hands, reaching up to take hold of his wrists. “You don’t think I can do it, that I can lead the Great Army. Is that it?”

You shook your head, desperately pulling at his grip now. “No! I know you can, Ivar-”

“ _I don’t believe you_!” Ivar hissed. His eyes were wild, manic like, and for a moment you worried if you should have been frightened of him. You didn’t think Ivar would actually ever hurt you, but the way he looked at you as he raved on, admitting he hadn’t slept in days made that seem doubtable. “I _saw_ you disappear that night – you made me crawl out to find you, when _I_ needed you!”

You stared at him incredulously – after all this, and only _now_ he was professing he needed you? Your heart sunk so thickly in your chest, you nearly had to hold back laughter at the irony of it all. Damn him for bringing the worst out of you! So much time already wasted because he had to be _so stubborn_ … and you just the same! Such a pair the two of you could have made. You struggled, trying to pull yourself out of his grip but he was too strong, still insistent to keep yelling.

“That is how it goes then, isn’t it? You _are_ just like the rest of them.” He dropped one hand to gesture at himself, “Thinking I am nothing but a _cripple_.”

Your palm connected with his face before you could even think twice on it. The sharp sound of the slap lingered in the space between you. This was entirely unlike any other time you had struck him but you did not regret it in the slightest. You were _infuriated_.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that!” You screamed, mimicking his hold, wrapping your own fingers around his neck. “That is not true!”

If anything, the action seemed to break whatever spell had taken over Ivar, but you stayed wary. He quieted down, shoulders slumping while he panted, nearly wheezing to catch his breath.

“And what if I die?” He asked eventually. Lifted his face to look at you with sad eyes. Your mouth fell open at the brunt of his words – your heart clenched while he picked at your resolve. Every inch of your body was aching to embrace him, but this was Ivar and Ivar always had to _fight_. “I thought you – that you -”

“You were mistaken,” you finished for him. As much as it hurt you to say it. Gods help you, you were in love with this _incorrigible_ man. Your very soul yearned for him. But perhaps you were not fated to be together. You were not a Shieldmaiden… You were of low birth with no standing, and property indebted to you by a deceased King… Your future was not promised to you as it was for Ivar. “I should not have let any of this get so far.”

Slowly… the look that rose upon Ivar’s face was enough to make you shudder. Eyes turning dark, he looked positively murderous. Visibly seething with anger.

“I was wrong all along,” he said, lifting his chin. His voice shook as he spoke, and just as you were thinking of backing away from him, he had both your arms in his grasp, pulling you toward him. “You have just been using me for your enjoyment, huh? Is that it?”

At once you were shaking your head. If he would only let you _speak_. “That’s not what I -”

“What, you can’t even admit it?” Ivar pressed. He leaned into you till you were barely a breath apart. “Go on, then.” He shouted. You winced when he gave you a violent shake. “Tell the _reject_ how much he’s amused you. Perhaps that you _wish_ for him to disappear – to lift your conscience. And leave you free to fuck other men.”

With what little range you had, you slapped him again. And Ivar reacted this time - you had no warning to block his hand as it swung across your face. But it wasn’t your first time to get hit, not the first time to get hit by Ivar either. All you registered was that now you had a free arm and you were quick to make a fist and drive it into his nose.

It shocked Ivar to say the least. He released you with a grunt, instinctively retreating to cover his nose, but you were already swinging again. Punched his cheek with your better hand before tackling him to the ground.

Everything became a blur of rage as you smacked at every part of him you could reach past his attempts to block. You knew you were screaming but saying what exactly, you did not know. You were positively sickened at Ivar’s words – wanted the very thought out of his mind if it took getting hit a dozen times to do it.

“S-stop! Stop, you crazy bitch!” Ivar shouted. Blood poured out of his nose, smearing over his mouth and cheeks as he ducked from side to side, trying to deflect your flailing arms.

“I _hate_ you!” You yelled back.

Your next jab was caught in his hand. Your guard was hardly down for a second but Ivar was so fast that you could not even process the hit. Practically soared backward off of him and landed hard on the ground.

For a moment, the earth was spinning. In a daze, you turned onto your stomach. Digging your fingers into the cold ground as you groaned. The first thing you could comprehend was the scorching heat on your cheek – you were certain you were bleeding. Then as your vision righted itself, you tried weakly to crawl away. Failed when a hand wrapped around your ankle and dragged you back, hiking your skirt up around your knees.

Ivar’s weight was on top of you then, smothering you against the ground, preventing you from escape.

“Get off me…” You growled. Swatted blindly at him and he snatched your wrist, twisted your arm and pinned it to your lower back.

He was panting hard above you, using your body to hold himself up. You could hear him spit to the side, assumedly a wad of blood. “Cannot… cannot even bear the truth, hm?”

You writhed beneath him, letting out a frustrated growl. “That is _not_ the truth, Ivar!”

“Then what is the truth?!” He roared in your ear.

“I love you! Damn you, Ivar… I love you…” You went limp under him, exhausted. There was no sense denying it anymore, you were doomed anyway. Your eyes slid closed and your head dropped onto the grass. Surprised at the calmness that took over upon your admission. “I only stay away from you because I already ache for when you leave me. To _think_ I don’t believe in you -” you scoffed. Ranted like he wasn’t even there to hear it. “I may not be fated to be yours, but you are fated to be _King_. And my heart will long for you always…”

There was silence save for the rain, and you had finally just started to regain your breath when you felt lips on your marred cheek. Your eyes popped open, sending an inquisitive brow over your shoulder.

“You are bleeding,” Ivar said softly.

He slid off of you, loosening his grasp on your arm to untwist it and turn you onto your back. He was a terrible beauty in all his dishevelment. His worn out look now accompanied with a stream of crimson down his face only to drip languidly from his chin.

You blinked rapidly through rain, and tears you had not realize you were shedding. For the first time, your instincts were not screaming at you to retreat. Even as Ivar looked down at you, looked _through_ you as if you were a puzzle suddenly making sense to him.

It was uncertain how much time had passed, but the cold started to sink into your bones and you shivered. You moved to sit up and take your leave, but had hardly rose from the ground when Ivar pinned his hands on either side of your head, eyes appearing wild. Your mouth opened to speak just as he began.

“When we return to England, we will conquer what is left. The cities will be ours for the taking – and when _I am King_ …” Ivar paused, baring his teeth from the excitement of the thought. “I will come back to Kattegat. And I will _kill_ Lagertha as vowed.” He pressed ever closer, sinking to his elbows. “And you will return with me – for I, too, am in love with you… You belong to _me_. And you will be my Queen. _That_ is fated.”

The very world disappeared as Ivar crushed you with his weight. Lips sealed his words with a passionate kiss, the force of it shaking you to your very core. You sobbed as Ivar moaned. Mouths opened and breathing fell in sync. Tongues collided and whatever doubt left behind was smothered with the taste of his blood.

Your fingers latched onto him, used him to pull yourself as close as you could and fasten your arms around his torso. His reciprocation was instant, arms locking behind your head only to smother you harder. All your days, you had never been kissed like this – _Ivar_ had never kissed you like this. You felt like he was your life force, anchoring you to the very ground he consumed you on top of. You were desperate to let this carry on for eternity.

…Eventually you had to break apart and when you did, you both fell slack on the ground, gasping for air. But you did not let go. Ivar’s head was perfectly nestled against yours, every panted breath echoed in your ear and you stared at the sky, chest heaving.

This was perhaps the first time you believed him to be truly yours. And not just for the moment – but deep in your body, a feeling that would stick with you long after this day. Long after he left for England. And though you were still bound to suffer when he did, you knew now that the suffering would be all the more sweet in the end. Ivar was ruthless with every bone in his body. Stubborn to a fault. His word was stone, and with his vow you knew it to be true. One day you would be his Queen.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading! I am filled with endless appreciation Xx
> 
> Find me [here](http://captainpoopweinersoldier.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

The very next morning had you rudely awakened to an incessant shifting on the bed. At first, you tried ignoring it. It was still very early – the light in the cabin was evidence to the sun only having just risen. But the movement was persistent and eventually your eyes cracked open. You were terribly sore; naked body ached from Ivar’s touch, and the wound on your face even more so. The last thing you were ready for was to be woken up.

“Ivar, go back to sleep,” you mumbled tiredly. Even waved a hand back and forth over your shoulder before snuggling back into the furs, ready to let sleep take you over once more.

“It is not Ivar.”

The unexpected voice had you whipping around in bed in a rush to cover yourself with the blanket. The sudden movement jarred you awake, left you dizzy from the blood rush.

At the foot of your bed – no longer occupied by Ivar – sat Ubbe, seemingly amused by your demeanor with a small smile dancing upon his lips. His cloak neatly draped over his lap as if he had been there for some time. Who knew how much he had seen?

Shrunken against the wall, you visibly relaxed, relieved to find the intruder was only Ubbe, but you still hissed over the intrusion itself. “ _Ubbe_ ,” you snapped, clutching the blanket to your chest. “You Ragnarssons are unappeasable. Next time it will be Hvitserk to sneak in my cabin to watch me sleep, I am certain.”

Ubbe’s small smile broke into a sheepish grin and his eyes darted over you and to the other end of the bed. Though hesitant, you followed his gaze, only to shriek upon finding Hvitserk smirking down at you, perched against the bed’s headboard.

“It pleases me to see you give as good as you get,” he mused, remarking on your bruised face.

“Hvitserk!” You dove under your blanket then, mortified. Wincing when you heard the boys’ laughter. “What is the meaning of this?”

“We have been waiting for you to awaken – and now you are woke.” You peeked an eye over the blanket to look warily at Ubbe. “Now get dressed, we would like to take you for a walk.”

You balked at once – eyes darting back and forth between the pair over the hem of your blanket.

“…Where is Ivar?”

“Ivar is busy.” Ubbe replied simply. He rose from the bed and turned his back to you, assumedly giving you space and privacy to get out of bed. You sent an accusatory look to Hvitserk who joined his brother; they stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for you. Ivar was busy? It seemed only a meager few hours since you had finally fallen asleep together, following a passionate three rounds on each other's bodies after your altercation in the rain.

It was a mixture of confusion and curiosity that had you rise from the bed. Bound the blanket around your torso to cover up while you retreated to get dressed. You did not see reason to press about Ivar’s location, but you were suspicious of the two men. And why in the name of the Gods they had decided to let themselves into your cabin just for a ‘walk’.

When all was said and done, they stood blocking you from the front door, silently tilting their heads back and forth as they appraised you. You raised your hands in the air in exasperation.

“What is it _now_?”

Ubbe cleared his throat, but Hvitserk, ever the gentleman blurted out – “Do you have anything nicer?”

The question took you off guard. You were a farmer not a Princess, what on earth were you supposed to be wearing? As usual, you had put on an average day dress; thick and itchy wool from shoulder to foot in a color that resembled mud.

Hvitserk strode past you and to the small section you had curtained off for a makeshift dressing room. You cursed as you heard him throw open your chest of clothes and help himself to your wardrobe. You looked desperately to Ubbe, seeking some sort of explanation and yet he merely shrugged at you.

“This one,” Hvitserk said when he returned. He thrust the fabric in your arms and you looked down at it. Though it was not _truly_ remarkable, he had picked out the finest dress you owned. It was something the slaves had fashioned for you on your last Name Day, having no one else, family or otherwise, to remember it. You had never actually worn it, it was too special for you to take a chance getting it dirtied. It was the color of fresh cream and the cotton was softer than any other fabric you owned; you knew the swatches were meant for someone of a higher status. The slaves must have taken great risk in making it for you.

“Hvitserk…” You looked up at him under furrowed brows, silently begging him to change his mind and pick something else. Or to just simply allow you to wear your current garb.

“I think you should wear this one.” Hvitserk insisted. A wry grin played on his lips. “What say you, Ubbe?”

You looked helplessly at the older brother, wishing for him to see reason. Instead he smiled brightly and gave a single nod. “Yes. That one is perfect.”

Sulking, you retreated behind the curtain to change. You threw your day dress aside and pulled the favorable one over your head. Having not been sized to you properly, you were surprised as to how well it fit. The fabric synched just above your hips, making your legs appear elongated. The sleeves were only just barely too long, extending past your wrists and hemmed with a sharp angle that touched the tips of your middle fingers. You loved it just the same.

You smoothed the skirt to hang flat; it nearly touched the ground and you felt a tinge of regret, knowing it was bound to get dirtied. This garment had been nice enough that it had always been set aside for your wedding day, something you only pondered in your wildest dreams, knowing it was bound to never –

Suddenly, you were overcome with nausea; heart feeling as if it skipped a beat. You looked down at the dress again and shook your head in disbelief. _No_. _That could not be it_.

You peered around the curtain to find the boys again, whispering to each other, making you worry. You had known and been friendly with Ubbe and Hvitserk for about as long as Ivar, but in the past several years, had drifted apart and you were not so accustomed to them now. It was a mystery to see them behave in such a manner, and you were suspicious.

“I need some assistance,” you forced yourself to announce. You stepped from the curtain and took a handful of your hair. “I need someone to tie this.”

Hvitserk stepped forward at once and you turned your back to him. Again, you felt exposed, feeling Hviterk’s fingers tickle the skin of your back, working at the lacing of your dress. As he secured them, the bodice tightened, pressed your breasts together to show a small line of cleavage.

Turning back around, you found Hvitserk chewing on his lip as he appraised you further. You opened your mouth to speak, stopping when he lifted his hands and ran his fingers through your hair.

“Just one more thing,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. He stepped behind you and pulled your hair back, started separating parts of it presumably to braid. You watched Ubbe while he fussed with it.

“Where is Ivar?” You asked again. Your own voice was unrecognizable, croaking as its strength was sucked away while your heart sped faster in every passing minute.

“Don’t worry about Ivar,” Hvitersk tutted. “Do you not trust us?”

You laughed weakly. “At this very moment - no.”

Hvitserk finished with your hair; two braids framed your head, joining as one at the nape of your neck. He threaded the parts together loosely, so when he pulled the length of it over your shoulder, it draped comfortably over your breast.

“Not so bad, eh, brother?” Hvitserk asked.

Ubbe smacked him in the stomach as he approached but gave a nod. “Impressive, actually.” You stayed in your spot until Ubbe impatiently waved his hand at you. “Put your boots on, we should be leaving.”

 

 

Almost half an hour was spent following the pair, walking through the depths of the woods. At several intervals, you tried to insist they let you in on whatever it was they were trying to pull. But each time you questioned them, they would merely throw you a mischievous glance, chuckling to themselves at times.

The day was sunny compared to the one prior, and it took no time at all to develop a warm sweat. Once again, you fretted over the quality of your dress. Grass stains already seeped through the hem, and now sweat stains would do the same.

Eventually, Ubbe and Hvitserk disrobed, and you realized they were clad in nicer dress than usual. They wore fitted tunics of deep purples and greens, topped with leather vests. Your hands began to shake. Your thoughts drifted back to Ivar; wondering why he had not been with you, where he was now, and what he was doing that his brothers saw fit to look after you. You tried to dispel the sole thought that was persistently running through your mind, knowing that _that_ could not be the case of whatever was occurring. It was not possible.

On you went, even further into the trees. You had only been familiar of the area because you spent summers all over this land, hunting for your livestock. You recognized the steep cliff you passed, could hear the waterfall that was ways down below it. Much of your time was spent down there when you had to relieve yourself of the heat.

You knew you would be breaching a clearing soon enough. It was the only clear semicircle of field at this deep of a point in the woods. You spent much of your childhood there, finding solace in the most quiet, beautiful part of the forest without having to deal with the other children of Kattegat who would mercilessly pick on you. It was the very place you became friends with Ivar; he was the only person you allowed to keep you company in this ‘secret spot’. More so, it was the place you became _more_ than friends during the summer before the Ragnarsson’s last raid.

The memories had you feeling ill again. You were both dreading your destination as well as the inevitable disappointment of the truth of this walk’s purpose.

But then the trees parted, rays of bright sunlight streaked upon the ground, giving an effervescent glow to the field ahead. Your gaze peered over Hvitserk and Ubbe’s shoulders and you halted so abruptly, you nearly tripped on your own boot. Meters ahead stood Ivar, Floki and Helga, and the Gyðja of Kattegat, accompanied only by a baby goat.

For Ivar was indeed standing, perched upon a pair of crutches. You had not seen him use a pair in years – the last ones so awkwardly built that they caused more trouble than not, with sharp pegs that stuck into the ground everywhere he went. Now, they appeared more suitable, with round, flat bottoms that seemed fit to support his weight.

He was clad in a white robe, the length falling to mid-thigh with a thick, leather belt fastened around his hips. At once, your heart was thrumming in your chest. Your hand covered your mouth as you found it difficult to breath.

Ubbe and Hvitserk came to a stop in front of you as soon as they heard your gasp. They turned around to find you gaping like a fish, eyes widened at the scene in front of you.

“Now, now,” Ubbe murmured, coming to stand beside you. He wrapped a comforting arm over your shoulder and you clutched his elbow, trying to steady your breathing, truly scared you would become faint. “Am I to understand you are not in love with our brother?”

You whimpered, knees buckling beneath you, but luckily Ubbe was there to embrace you.

“Don’t be stupid,” you snapped breathlessly.

Ubbe chuckled, ran his hand back and forth soothingly over your back. “Then this should be quite simple.”

You gulped and nodded at him, barely hearing Hvitserk as he chucked ahead, skipping away into the clearing.

Was this really to happen? Was Ivar about to make you his wife - without even discussing the matter? Seconds felt eternal as you looked toward him in the field, your potential future impeccably flaunted in front of you. Your thoughts sporadically passed through image after image of a life with him, of a future that for once could be promised.

But was it not far from now that you were to be separated from him? What would become of you if Ivar did not succeed?

The possibilities were endless, and yet for the first time, you saw your fates entwined. Could imagine growing old with Ivar the Boneless. With a King. Raising his child. Was that not worth the risk?

But then Ivar spotted you and all the weight and burden that life held disappeared. Even at this distance, his eyes were clear and blue, practically illuminated as he stared. Any expression he previously held fell from his face, looking half uneasy, half amazed to see you, as if expecting you to cut and run at any moment.

Ubbe uttering your name pulled you back to the present, pulling his arm from you to hold out his hand.

“Do not think so hard on it now, if this is truly what you want of him.”

He was absolutely right, you slowly realized. Every fiber of your very being loved Ivar, craved and longed for him. What difference was it to make if you wed him now, or years from now if he ever returned? And though you did not imagine a world in which he did not return, you would forever regret not having him as your husband. He was the only certain consistency in your life – if Ivar wanted the moment to be now, then you did as well.

With new confidence albeit trembling limbs, you eagerly took Ubbe’s hand and he led you into the clearing. All else faded in your eyesight save for Ivar as you approached. You could see his resolve visibly softening, the closer you got. Evidently reassured that you would have him, just as he would have you.

On most days, Ivar’s beauty would leave you stunned. But as you neared, there was something different about it now. Perhaps it was the air of vulnerability that orbited him, or his neatly braided hair, tied back into a knot atop his head. Or maybe that his pale skin seemed richer in contrast compared to the white robe he adorned… and the light blush that spread over his cheeks. Perhaps it was just that this was to be your husband, and the realization made him all the more alluring. Even the swollen nose and black, half-moon shaped bruises under his eyes did nothing to mar his beauty.

The closer you became, you had to stifle the laughter that threatened to escape. The pair of you met in your finest white garbs, and bruises. What a couple you made. But your heart was finally starting to settle down with the ease certainty had brought.

Ubbe presented you to him as if a gift, and a relieved grin spread over Ivar’s face. But you could tell the crutches were bothersome to him; you were accustomed to the look he wore when frustrated that he could not touch you. If he embraced you now, he would fall. He towered over you now, a sight to behold, yes, and yet you could see beads of sweat lingering at his hairline. His shoulders and biceps were taut with strain as they supported all of his body weight.

“What is the meaning of this, Ivar?” You asked, voice stronger now given your confidence. You gestured toward his crutches, just to be sure he did not doubt your commitment.

Ivar’s eyes had been roaming your body, certainly surprised to see you in such a fine dress. But your question had him raise his eyes to yours, moisten his lips with his tongue before speaking. “I would stand and meet my lover as a real man.”

You considered his answer for a moment, understanding his pride, but knowing that it mattered not to you, in what position he was. And for the best blessing from the Gods, this ceremony would have to be true.

“My lover _is_ a real man,” you countered. Finest dress be damned, you took a seat on the grass, still wet from morning dew and yesterday’s rain. You peered up at him, watching conflict fill his eyes and a pout grow on his lips. “I would have him just as he is.”

Floki’s shrill giggle made you suddenly remember you were not alone. The rest of the world came swimming back in again.

Ivar sucked on his lip and nodded. Ubbe came to his side, and after taking his crutches, assisted Ivar to sit in front of you. He seemed apprehensive at first, but then Helga excitedly proceeded to sit on the ground with Floki, and Ubbe and Hvitserk did the same. Only the Gyðja stayed standing.

You reached for Ivar instantly. Grasped onto his coarse hands, immensely happier. You would not have been able to hold him so if he stayed standing. Ivar came to relax and met your smile, his fingers wrapped tightly around your own, and you knew you would have been kissing already if it weren’t for the audience.

“And who is to give the Bride away?” The Gyðja asked.

“No one gives me away,” you said cheerfully and without reluctance. “My father is dead – I belong to myself, and I give myself to Ivar.”

Ivar beamed in a way you had never seen before. His smile filled his eyes and he pulled on the bracer of his legs, dragging them aside so he could sit even nearer to you.

“And the Husband?”

“My father is also dead,” Ivar matched. He leaned forward to press his forehead on yours, it took all you had not to kiss him then. “I give myself to you; there shall be one end for us both... One bond after our vows. Each world holds joy, and in those regions, shall the repose of our united souls win fame and glory – our equal faithfulness in love.”

You quieted a sob then, lifting one hand to grasp his arm. All the tears of the land could have filled your eyes and you would leave them open, swearing to remember Ivar like this for the rest of your days and beyond. The Valkyrie could only descend upon you if appearing such as this.

You finished the rest of the poem, shifting to clutch his fist in both of your hands. “Our love will not aimlessly perish. I shall not go down basely in loneliness. Let the bonds grip my throat in the midst - our final anguish shall bring with it pleasure only, and death will prove to have its own delights.”

“I love you,” Ivar breathed, unable to keep from kissing your forehead at least.

“I love you,” you repeated; it was odd, how easy the words were to say now. You kissed his cheek, allowing your lips to linger just to get the slightest taste of him.

“Then we must have the exchange of rings.” The Gyðja announced.

Ivar reached beneath his robe and into a pocket of his breaches. He produced two rings made of black iron, one bigger than the other. Only then did the Gyðja kneel down. She took both rings and set them into a bowl made of stone. The small goat whined as she brought it between the both of you, but you could hardly take notice – too drawn in Ivar to allow your eyes to see much of anything else.

The blood was spilled over your rings and the corpse was set aside, certain to be feasted on later, as was tradition. Then the Gyðja produced a bundle of fir twigs, dipped it into the bowl of fresh blood and proceeded to splatter the life on your face, then Ivar’s. A gust of cool wind swooped through the clearing, instantly sealing the droplets into your pores. You truly felt it had been a sign.

The Gyðja’s fingers brought your attention back, pressing hard beneath your chin to look into your eyes.

“Do you swear to the Gods that you want to marry this man?” She asked.

“I swear it,” you said, a promise more certain than any you made in your life.

She smiled and nodded, shifted to Ivar to grip his face in her hands. “And do you swear to the Gods that you want to marry this woman?”

“I swear it.” Ivar stated. “The Gods be my witnesses.”

The Gyðja gestured to your rings, just barely poking out above the pool of blood. Ivar took the smaller one first and reached for your hand. You more than willingly granted it and he slid the ring easily down the length of your finger to reside beneath your knuckle. It fit perfectly.

You mimicked his actions; took hold of the larger band and grasped onto his hand, only to slide it down his own finger. Your stubborn tears fell then, seeing Ivar adorn the ring. The crushing reality was finally sinking in.

“And so - you are married!”

The small group around you cheered and you could not tell who was faster, you or Ivar, as you reached for each other, limbs tangling together as you sought one another’s lips.

The kiss was just as intense as the one the day before, if not more so. Ivar’s hunger matched your own as your lips crashed, mashing together with a need that trumped that of food and water. Your arms wrapped around each other’s necks, holding tight as if it were your very mouths that kept you tethered to earth. The Gyðja had raised the bowl and poured the remaining blood over your shoulders and yet your mouths remained anchored. Tongues grazed just enough to have your surroundings disappear again… all you were left with was Ivar, and it was the greatest feeling in all the realms.

 

 

The day had moved on to the afternoon and you still had not left the clearing. After passing around a flagon of mead, your audience left you and Ivar alone. And now you lay on your backs, basking in the sun while your fingers tangled together. The goat blood had since mostly dried on you both and you found yourself chuckling, having been so distraught over ruining your dress earlier that morning. Well, it most certainly had been ruined… but the circumstance made it worth it.

“What is so funny?” Ivar asked beside you.

“You and your games,” you mused. You rolled over so you could look upon him. Ran a possessive hand across his chest to settle on his shoulder. The specks of blood were like freckles on his pale face and his blue eyes seemed brighter in contrast with his bruises, even glowed as the sunlight reflected from them. “Is that how you woo a woman? Sneak out of her bed to plot against her… Send your brothers to collect her.”

Ivar grinned in a way that made the skin around the corner of his eyes crinkle. It tossed butterflies around your stomach. His hand rose to your waist and stroked through your dress. “If I am to be honest, I think I have always wanted to be wed to you.”

Your brows furrowed at his confession and the way he spoke so freely. Would this always be his way now? Ivar rarely spoke of his feelings. But perhaps he, too, found new confidence in the solidity of your vows.

“When we returned from our last raid, you were all I longed to see. And then you found me that night.” His hands busied with your bloodied hair. Fingers undid the plaiting as if the action made it easier for him to think. Meanwhile your heart was racing again; you thought the wedding itself would be the height of your emotions that day, but the intimacy of this moment was altogether different. “You had not even meant to… But I remember thinking… the Gods must have led you to me. Just as they always have. Just as they did when I was a child.”

His fingers reached the nape of your neck, still pulling strands of your hair loose to fan over your shoulder. Ivar seemed in such a trance, it was like he spoke to himself. He had the most determined expression on his face, like what he was saying was sworn truth regardless of the Gods’ involvement. You bit your lip to keep from interrupting. You would bite it off before letting him stop.                                      

“I have always believed happiness was fruitless. More certainly, that I would never have it.” He perched himself up on his elbow, pulling his fingers from your hair to pet the side of your face. “But after yesterday…” He trailed, running his thumb over your swelled cheek. His face took a more serious expression, his jaw set and his eyes became stern. “I had to make you mine. I could not leave again without knowing our fate sealed. And I must protect you while I am gone. _Everyone must know you are_ _mine_.”

“Ivar…” You did not know what to say. Never had you expected Ivar to say such things. You could feel tears prickle at your eyes again, but you did not want to cry. Ivar smiled and sat up, taking hold of you to settle you over his lap. His hands muddled with your skirt to hike it up so you could comfortably straddle him.

“So – yes, I snuck out of your bed.” He leaned in to place a kiss on your jaw. “I fashioned our rings before the sun rose.” Another kiss on your collar bone. “And sent my brothers to fetch you to me.” His mouth reached the swell of your breasts and his breath became heavy as he nuzzled into them.

You were partially numb to it, mind reeling as you looked upon the ring on your finger. The width was thick and sturdy, smooth to the touch. And the edges were ridged from the way they had been mounted for welding. It was unique and beautiful, and your heart clenched all the more, knowing it was Ivar’s creation. “You _made_ these?” You asked, voice hitting an impossibly high octave.

Ivar hummed into your cleavage, still mouthing away at the mounds of flesh. No doubt enjoying it all the more since doused in a layer of blood. His hands were steadily becoming fervent on your body, slipping beneath your skirt to rub at your thighs.

“ _Ivar_ ,” you whined, attempting to keep his attention.

“ _What_ , woman?” He whined back, tearing his mouth from your skin. Whatever you intended to say was lost to you, looking at your husband’s face. His eyes were becoming cloudy again, filled with the lust that shown just before being doused in blood in front of him. You tilted your head, closing the short distance between you to kiss his lips. You took hold of the back of his head, crushing him against you until he winced and twitched.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, releasing him at once. Ivar’s nose crinkled as you did, but he shook his head.

“Where did you learn to throw a fist like that, huh?” His tone was meant to sound disapproving, but you could see the coyness in his eyes. Even while they slid closed as he tilted his head to run his tongue just above the hem of your dress. You felt the sense of pride, thinking that perhaps he had been impressed.

“You are not the only man I have dealt with that thinks he so tough,” you replied just as teasingly.

Ivar’s chuckle was muffled by your breast, and then he was tipping you over, forcing you onto the ground to lay on your side. He bunched your skirt up even further so he could fasten your bare thigh over his hip. “Is that so?” His hand was possessive, squeezing roughly around your breasts before traveling around to your back. His fingers tangled through the laces of your gown and a low growl resounded in his chest as his hands massaged into your skin. “Perhaps I should have claimed you a long time ago.”

You were about to reply when he ripped the laces apart; the dress instantly loosened around you and drooped down your shoulder and chest. If it had not already been ruined, you might have been angry with him.

“My wife…” he murmured – your heart sped at the very word, loving the way it sounded coming from him. He cupped your neck with one hand, used the other to tug your dress down so he could capture your nipple between his lips. Your back instinctively arched toward him, fingers tangled into his braids, urging him to get his fill. His mouth sucked, and tongue flicked the hardened bead with his tongue. Teeth briefly grazed your skin before he kissed his way up toward your neck.

His breath was raspy in your ear as his hips grinded into yours. “The blood is still slick here,” he remarked.

A breathless moan escaped you. You wanted to hear him talk and talk… The mere sound of his voice had created a most throbbing ache between your legs, and his hot mouth and wandering hands were beginning to make you desperate for more of him.

Ivar tugged behind your knee some more, fastening you even tighter around him. The cool breeze had just begun to gently waft over your sex until Ivar slid his hand over it. You shivered as he groaned.

“Your cunt is slick, too,” he marveled. He all but moaned as his hand ran back and forth between your thighs. He spoke between kisses now, still languidly mouthing over your throat. “I love how your body needs me…” he went on… And there had been no mistaking it. Already your hips were rolling with the movements of his hand. You were quickly becoming a panting mess; your fists were clenched around Ivar’s robe and your eyes stayed rolled back. An overwhelming chill slithered up your spine each time his breath fanned over your skin, dampened by his saliva.

“How it yearns for my _cock_ ,” Ivar hissed. A sound much like a strangled animal escaped you as he sunk two fingers inside of you. He was instantly pumping away at you, his own hips mimicking thrusts to increase the friction between your bodies.

“ _Ivar_ ,” you moaned thickly.  

“I know, my love,” he said soothingly. The hand around your neck forced your head to tilt and he set a chaste kiss on your lips. You could hardly return it, shuddering hard while Ivar fucked you with his fingers. They pressed deeper and deeper inside while his thumb rolled heavily around your clit. “Whatever will happen to your body when I am gone?” He pondered aloud. “Without my cock to fill you… My mouth no longer able to satisfy you?”

“Do not speak of it,” you snapped. Somehow finding strength to nudge your forehead against his.

Ivar growled and rolled you onto your back. With regret, he withdrew his fingers from you only to clasp his hands around your face. “I think I will fuck you day in… and day out until I am forced to leave.”

The look in his eyes were predatory and you shivered. Locked your knees around him. His solid erection was pressed into you now and you could all but whimper as his hips rolled into yours. The friction was unbearable - your only solace was to tear at his robe. Force his belt open and rip it apart. He planted his hands on the ground so you could undress him and he raised one arm at a time to remove his sleeves. You practically flung the garment aside and raked your nails up the length of his bare waist before sinking them into his back.

Ivar grunted, smiling darkly above you. The sun bore over him, illuminated his body in the likeness of a God. “I will make you ache before this very night,” he promised. He dipped his head to capture your lips, and a fight for dominance began as your tongues tangled together. His mouth was demanding, but yours just as so. Teeth clashed and it took only a short moment before you were tasting blood. You both were groaning from it, not entirely sure of who it belonged to.

Ivar tore himself away with a shout. He ran his tongue over your lips; it flicked at your jaw and then you were screeching as his teeth sunk into your neck. He bit harder and harder until you felt lightheaded, tore your nails through his back in sweet vengeance. He growled and retreated, but you could see the ferocious smile return as he set his forehead on yours.

“Your back will be broken by the time I am through with you.”

Your stomach plummeted at his words and Ivar was already moving, shifting his weight to one hand so he could reach down between your bodies and unfasten his breeches. Each move of his hand had his knuckles brushing against your cunt, making this all the more torturous. So you slid your hands under his breeches to speed it along. His pants slipped down as you took hold of his ass in both hands and urged him forward, trying to grant access.

The air was thick with tension in your tangle of limbs. The both of you were fumbling so fast, he poked clumsily at your thigh with his first thrust. But the second had him driving home; your voices echoed together in harmonious relief when his cock sunk inside, filling you completely. The pain of stretching around him meant nothing – Ivar was already pulling out and ramming back in like his very life depended on it.

 He was rough and fast above you. Hips snapped into yours with animalistic aggression. It felt like you would burst each time he filled you, but any tiny moment he was unsheathed, you felt a frantic need for him to return. There was naught you could but hold onto him; he was so _strong_ and you reveled in it. His arms flexed entirely on either side of you – muscles rippled with each of his thrusts. He lowered himself to perch on his forearms, blanketing you completely under his torso.

Whether it was the heat of the moment or the heightened emotions of the day was unknown – but it did not take long for either of you to reach your finish.

Ivar had a handful of your hair, forcing your head down to the ground until your back arched off of it. His eyes were darkened, pure _hunger_ was written plainly on his face as he thrust into you with a hard and relentless pace. His other hand had seized your breast, had been twisting your nipple between his fingers as you came. You could see his pupils dilate as he watched it happen. Merely basked in the sound of your shrill screaming, even as he endured your vice-like grip tugging at his braids.

He was soon to follow – his movements became frantic as you clenched around him and flailed beneath him. Your form was smothered by his weight and his hands snatched greedily at any piece of you he could until your flesh bruised from his ministrations.

His pace slowed but his strength only increased before he was shouting into your ear with every thrust.

Finally, his fingers wove into your hair again, tangled into your tresses and he did his best to kiss you – a task proven difficult by the vigor of your bodies. His breath was hot in your mouth as his tongue delved between your lips. You swallowed down his moans and yelped as he drove into you a final time. His hips had pummeled into yours hard enough to make you shriek at the suddenness, then Ivar was breaking the kiss. His jaw quickly clamped down on itself before falling slack. His eyes opened wide and he let out one of the most guttural moans you had ever heard come from his body.

You could feel his cock twitch inside you as he milked every last drop of his seed with your cunt. You stared, fascinated – Ivar’s skin became flush and he audibly gulped before being able to collapse on top of you. He still moaned as he came down from the high. Your bodies heaved in sync with each other as you struggled to catch your breath. Ivar was covered in a layer of sweat and you nuzzled his clavicle, lapping at the dampness of it.

“Suddenly, I am afraid to let you go.” Ivar said. He kissed your temple and pet your hair. He had hardly relaxed and you could already sense his anxious energy emerging.

“It is all right,” you tried to soothe, though the sound of his tone made you tremble. “We do not have to move for some time.”

Ivar lifted his head to peer at you. He looked troubled and the slightest bit angry. “That is _not_ what I meant.”

“I know, Ivar.” You ran your thumb across his cheek and trailed your fingers over the shaved scalp of his head. You felt every ounce of his fear, if not more so… But you needed him to be strong. It was the only thing that was keeping you together. For your husband, you put on the most reassuring smile.

“It is all right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soooo much for reading! Hope this one was enjoyable :D  
> Ya'll are the best! Xx.


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